The Secret of Arabella Figg
by TOPGRRRL
Summary: Harry finds out some interesting information about his past from his weird old neighbor...


The Secret of Arabella Figg

A/N: OMG, I haven't been on fanfiction.net for almost a year!! I dunno if anyone has added me to their fav authors list, but it doesn't matter. It's broken right now. 

Disclaimer: First and foremost, I must pay homage to the second richest woman in Great Britain, the wonderful J. K. Rowling!! Thank God she's rich. OK, I also have to credit my friend Amy for this idea. It WAS her idea, I just kinda… played around with it a bit. Ok then. On with the fic! 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"You know what to do then, Arabella?" asked Albus Dumbledore, a worried look on his wrinkled face.

"Yes. I'll try my best. No matter what, I won't let him win." She gave a small shudder, and nodded to Dumbledore.

"Fine then, I hope I shall see you again, but perhaps you should stay here. Every once in a while, I shall have someone check in on you. I daresay you'll need the company." Dumbledore said.

"Oh, I'll be fine. I have my cats, after all. As long as I have them, I won't be too lonely." Arabella replied.

"Well, since you have your assignment, I'll be on my way. Good luck, Mrs. Figg."

"Good bye, Professor."

Mrs. Figg waited until Dumbledore left, then set about to start her work, which would carry her for the next 17 years. 

Fourteen years later…

"Up! Get up, now!"

Harry groaned. He lay in his bed for a moment before forcing his weak eyes open. Another dull day…

"What do I have to do today, Aunt Petunia?" asked Harry, wiping his eyes behind his thick glasses.

"Nothing. And you should be glad! Mrs. Figg is going to watch you while your Uncle Vernon and I take Dudley to the park. And you'll be staying there all day long, so don't give me any attitude!" Aunt Petunia screeched in Harry's ear.

__

At least Aunt Petunia is in a good mood today, Harry thought grimly. He chewed his toast slowly, trying to kill as much time as possible before going to Mrs. Figg's house. Eventually, after Dudley pointed this out to his parents, Harry had to get ready to go. He got dressed and brushed his teeth, but didn't bother to fix his hair. He walked along the block with his relatives to Mrs. Figg's house. When the old lady opened the door, Harry was immediately hit by the familiar smell of cats. 

"Hello, young Harry," said Mrs. Figg in a croaky voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Figg," replied Harry with a rather fixed smile. He never liked staying at Mrs. Figg's house. She seemed older than she really was, and always looked at Harry like she knew something that he didn't. Like she was keeping something from him that he should know, but she didn't dare tell him. It reminded him of Dobby, in a way, yet it seemed even stranger than the house-elf. 

"Come in, come in. Vernon, Petunia, Dudley, why don't you come in as well? I have fans in here, and it's so hot outside." Mrs. Figg waved them in, but the Dursleys refused the offer. 

"Now, Bell, we cannot accept your hospitality," Uncle Vernon said, "You have already taken care of our, um, _darling_ nephew," he added with more than a small note of sarcasm. Dudley smirked at Harry, who frowned. It was bad enough having to spend the entire day at Mrs. Figg's house, but to have the Dursleys make fun of him! It was too much.

After the Dursleys had left, Harry sat around, looking at old photos of people Mrs. Figg knew. He was used to this. It was really boring. He felt mad at the Dursleys, because he felt so stupid. He was fifteen years old! He didn't need an old lady to watch him! On the contrary, it looked as though Mrs. Figg needed him to watch her. Over the past few years, in particular, Mrs. Figg was looking wrinklier and more fragile than ever. Harry supposed it was from old age. While Mrs. Figg went into the kitchen to feed her cats (shouldn't they be dead by now?), Harry went over to the bookshelf to look at more old photos. There was one book that looked as though it was used every day, but never often enough. It was almost invisible, yet stood out so brightly Harry couldn't imagine a book that vivid. This didn't make much sense, but then again, neither did the book. He took it down from the shelf and felt it vibrate in his hands, as though it was shuddering. He looked at the cover in surprise. The title of the book was "_Arabella Figg's Friends and Family Fotos_". Harry was interested, mostly because it contained pictures of regular people, as opposed to cats. He wondered who Mrs. Figg's friends were—she didn't seem to get out much, did she? Harry looked at the first page. It was Mrs. Figg, at least forty years younger, a teenager. She was standing next to what must have been her brother, and a man who could be her father. He looked on the next page. There was Mrs. Figg again, about 25 years old. She was sitting with others around a table. There was a banner underneath the table, but the words were cut off. As he turned the page, he gasped in amazement. The pictures were _moving. _Mrs. Figg was in a picture, unaware of the camera, obviously. She was talking to, unmistakably, Sirius. Judging from the fact that Sirius looked about 20, and Mrs. Figg looked about 40, the picture was taken around 10 years ago. Harry looked on in wonder as he turned the pages of the old photo album and saw Mrs. Figg in pictures with Mr. Weasley, Lupin, and Albus Dumbledore. Harry looked at all the old party shots taken and realized that Mrs. Figg used to be really popular, or she wouldn't have gone to all of these parties. But after a while, Harry noticed that all of these parties took place in the same location. _They were all in Mrs. Figg's house._ Harry had always thought that Mrs. Figg never went out, and it seemed as though it was true. 

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Mrs. Figg seemed to have come back from taking care of her cats. She wasn't happy to see Harry looking through her photo album. 

"Umm… just looking?" Harry said in a small voice. He had never heard Mrs. Figg yell before. It scared him a little. 

"UGG! How much did you see in there?! Did you go past the first page?"

"Err… sorta?" Harry braced himself for an eruption.

"So…" said Mrs. Figg in a deadly whisper, "how much do you know? Do you know all of those people?" 

"I-I know some, you know, not _personally_ or anything, but I know their names-" said Harry.

"Ahhh, you're protecting Sirius, now, are you?" Harry gaped at her. How could she know?

"Come, Harry. You can know some of what I know. You are only to learn the rest when you are ready." She hoisted the large, old book into her lap. "You know already, don't you? You know I'm a witch." She looked over at Harry, who was sitting two chairs away. He was still afraid she might explode again. He nodded at these words. He realized when he saw the people. 

"Well, come look at these pictures, boy! That's what you were after in the first place, anyway." Harry moved closer to Mrs. Figg, who pointed to the first picture. "This is my brother, Belarus. Lovely name, isn't it? Anywho, this, on my other side is my father, Beldam. He was a kind soul, but someone who discovered his true identity killed him. Very sad, very sad indeed." She turned the page. "Okay, you know Sirius already, and Dumbledore, do you know this couple?" Mrs. Figg pointed to a man with brown hair and his round wife with curly brown locks. Harry shook his head. "They're the, well, they're the Longbottoms," said Mrs. Figg with a pause. "Shame, feel so bad for the baby. Well, he's not a baby anymore, now, is he?" Harry looked down for a minute. He did feel bad for Neville. When he looked up again, Mrs. Figg was pointing out new people. "And there's Mundungus Fletcher, and Serena Warbeck, you might've heard of her sister, Celestina Warbeck…" Mrs. Figg went on and on, and Harry took most of this in, but he was still in shock. How could _Mrs. Figg_, his strange old neighbor, be a witch? How did Mr. and Mrs. Dursley trust her? And why, _why_, didn't Harry ever find out about this until now?

"Harry, dear, you look like you've got something on your mind. Could you tell me what it is?" Mrs. Figg looked over at him. She knew that he spaced out often when she droned on in her photo albums, but she would think that the mention of his parents would make him curious.

"Sorry, but, how come I've never found out about you? And why do the Dursleys let me stay with you if you're a witch? And, and…" Harry was searching for more strange things to ask, when Mrs. Figg waved a hand to silence him. 

"Harry, I'll explain from the beginning, shall I? You're not s'possed to know this, mind. So keep quiet about it. All right, then, let me start.

"Harry, your parents and I were close friends. Not as close as they were with Sirius, or Remus, but we were pretty close. Now, as you know, Sirius was to be their secret-keeper while Voldemort went looking for them. But then, at the last second, he switched with that murdering traitor, Wormtail." Mrs. Figg shook with rage, and for a second, Harry thought she would explode again. "Anyway, after the deaths of your parents, Dumbledore sent you over to the Dursleys. Now he knew that Voldemort would try to come after you, once he had gained power. And he did try to kill you already, several times now," Mrs. Figg smiled at Harry with pride. "Now then, where was I? Oh, yes. So Dumbledore needed a secret-keeper for you. Someone to hold the secret of your location, hidden in your relatives' care. He needed someone close to your family, someone trustworthy. He couldn't use Sirius; he was supposedly Voldemort's number one supporter. He couldn't use Wormtail, Peter was "dead." Moony changed into a werewolf every month, so he was no good. Dumbledore chose me. I have had to live in this old house for seventeen years, with only my cats for company. Yes, I've had a few visitors, and a few parties, but no love. I have had such a time keeping Voldemort away; I look a good ten or twenty year older than I am. I could tell when Voldemort was getting closer. Or when he really felt like killing you. Tom was always a hateful boy, he didn't like blaming himself. 

Whenever he got mad, because he was too weak to hold a wand, or couldn't perform a spell, he blamed you. I could tell when he was angry, much like you can. The spell's linked me to him, like the curse has linked you to him. And your relatives, no matter how much you hate them, link you to safety. They link you to me. Dumbledore made them think that I was a normal muggle, and to leave you in my care. As long as I don't talk, Voldemort can't touch you, when you're in the care of your aunt and uncle. That is why Dumbledore makes you come here every summer. And that is why Voldemort hasn't been able to kill you, yet."

Harry sat in shock at Mrs. Figg's words. It was all beginning to make sense.

__

Ding-Dong.

"That would be your family," said Mrs. Figg, limping over to the front door. Harry hadn't realized the time. Mrs. Figg had been talking all day long. 

"Come on, Harry. You've got to go home now. Well, what're you waiting for? Let's get a move on!" Uncle Vernon yelled through the door. Harry picked himself up and walked through the door. He hadn't expected his uncle's mood to change, even after a pleasant afternoon in the park. He was an ignorant muggle, but that didn't mean he had to be so rude. Oh, well. Some people never change…


End file.
